Reward
by Amerachan
Summary: There is little in that desert wasteland left for a man like Vash the Stampede, except for the most important thing. rated for language and the fact that Wolfwood always smokes...


Reward

Sand stretched out in all directions, as far as the eye could see. If one were to travel to the end of the world, the only thing they would find is more sand. Green was a colour scarcely seen in this land now, and few people could remember or even dream of a day when trees and grass dominated over the now arid land.

"It's so hot!" he whined. He tilted his head back, holding the bottle inches from his lips. The action was futile; the only moisture for miles around was the sweat that clung to his tall blonde hair. He opened his green eyes again and gazed out over the sea of sand.

"Ran outta water already?" sounded a voice next to him. "I'd have thought that the legendary Vash the Stampede would be more prepared for situations like these."

"You know, I'm not as amazing as the stories say. Hey wait! You still have water? Give me some!"

"No way. You drank all yours. So tough luck. Besides, if I let you have some, you'll drink it all!"

"No I won't! _Please_?"

"I said no! Damn, you're such a whiner."

"Then let me sit in the shade, too."

"There's only room for one person under this thing."

"You're so mean!" Vash accused, squirming.

"What are you talking about?"

"You're a man of the cloth, but you won't even give to someone who's _really_ in need!"

"Aww, shut up," Wolfwood said. He scratched his hair, as though to try and get rid of the sand in it. When that task was completed, he took a long drag from his cigarette, finishing it. No sooner had he stamped it into the ground than he had lit another one, taking a short drag and breathing out smoke in delicate little puffs.

"Those things will kill you," Vash commented, glancing at the cigarette in Wolfwood's mouth.

"There are worse things to die from," Nicholas said quickly.

Vash only nodded slightly and gazed out again. He tried to concentrate on something cold and refreshing, but the heat burnt his thoughts to a crisp before he had the chance to benefit from it. He sighed warily and lowered his head, and then pointed in Wolfwood's direction.

"And what's with that thing you carry around anyways? You claim it's 'full of mercy,' but what kind of mercy guns people down with so many bullets?"

"This," Wolfwood said, patting his giant cross behind him, the object that provided him with insufficient shade from the heat. "_Is_ full of mercy. Mercy for the people who are helpless. I didn't say I was bringing mercy to people who cause pain."

"Then have mercy for me and let me sit under it!" Vash whined.

"I already told you no. If you're so hot, why are you wearing such a hot and heavy coat, anyways? You're practically begging to bake in that thing."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Take it off if you're so hot!"

Vash looked at him for a moment, and then looked away, out to the hot, blurry horizon.

"I can't take it off," he said quietly.

"Why's that?"

"I can't."

"Your choice."

Vash didn't reply. His gaze was being drawn out and beyond the horizon now, to memories that threatened to become as hazy as the sand in the distance.

"Oh, Ren," he said softly.

"What? What did you say?" Wolfwood asked, looking at him under his black sunglasses.

Nicholas did not receive a reply. He watched as Vash's eyes seemed to cloud over and grow dull.

He was the Humanoid Typhoon. His very existence was condemned by most who knew his name and welcomed by those who wanted the sixty billion double dollar bounty on his head. He was accused of causing the destruction of many cities, but he and that other person were the only people who knew that it wasn't his fault at all. It was _his_ fault, and while Vash could not forgive him for it, he didn't have the heart to punish him. Nor did he had the confidence and conviction to tell the people that it wasn't his own fault for the destruction of those cities, the loss of those lives. He couldn't help but take the blame for it.

Millions Knives, despite his usually calm and seemingly friendly demeanor, was a cold blooded killer, and the real cause of the mayhem from which Vash had obtained his reputation as the Humanoid Typhoon. Knives had killed everyone on that craft, too, more than one hundred thirty years ago, including Ren. And yet, why couldn't Vash hate him? Was it because Knives was his brother? Or maybe, he did hate him, but he felt bad for holding such a strong feeling against him, and therefore refused to acknowledge it. He wasn't sure. The truth was, he hadn't seen Knives for quite some time now, and things were slowly becoming more peaceful. Vash the Stampede was still a man of legend, known to wipe out entire civilizations in an instant, fabled to be able to get out of any dangerous situation with little or no damage to himself, and to be one of the best gunmen on Earth.

The next thing Vash knew, something cold was in his mouth, and he nearly choked on it before sitting up, swallowing it and coughing. He looked next to him to find Wolfwood staring at him with half a look of wonder and a bottle in his hand.

"Damn, I try to help you out and give you some water and you nearly choke on it. I wish you could be more appreciative," Wolfwood said with a sigh, taking a small drink from his bottle.

"You gave me water?" Vash asked, wiping his mouth.

"Yeah, well... you passed out. One minute you're gazing out at the sand and saying something to yourself and the next you're on the ground. The heat must've gotten to you. In any case, the bus should be coming soon, right?"

"Yeah. I think so. Then we can go to another city and get some water. And some food. I'm starving!"

"You're always complaining," Wolfwood said, taking a drag from another lit cigarette.

The two men were silent for a small stretch of time, until Wolfwood spoke again.

"Need another drink?" Nicholas asked, holding out his bottle to his companion.

"No, that's ok. I don't want to drink it all on you," Vash said lightly.

Wolfwood took another drag from the cigarette and expelled all the smoke carefully.

"You're too nice, you know that?" he said at long last.

"What's that?"

"I said you're too nice. And you trust people too easily. And I don't mean that you tell everyone your life story. I mean that you'll go ahead and help random people you've just met, without knowing if they're really out for your bounty or not. And you risk your neck for absolutely _everyone_. And then, before they can turn around to repay you, you've already walked away!"

"Is that a bad thing?"

"It's gonna get you killed," Wolfwood criticized, waving his bottle as though he were scolding him.

"I really don't mind."

"What?"

"You do a lot of dangerous jobs too, don't you Wolfwood?" Vash asked, not looking at the man.

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Why do you do them?"

"I need the money."

"For what?"

"Well, for one, I have to get around from place to place, and not many people are gonna let a dirt poor priest on a bus. But I need the money for the orphanage, too."

"So it's for the children."

"It's for the children," Wolfwood confirmed.

"But all those dangerous jobs can get _you_ killed," Vash pointed out.

"But at least I'd die knowing I was working for something. But for you, you don't take anything from the people. If you get killed trying to help someone, what have you accomplished?"

"Making life easier for someone else."

"What about yourself?"

"Hmm?"

"What about making it easier for yourself?"

"No... I don't mind having a hard life. It's been that way since I was a boy, so I'm used to it by now."

"You shouldn't have to be."

"I know. But then again, neither should anyone else."

Without notice, Wolfwood burst into laughter, catching Vash's full attention and his gaze.

"Why are you laughing?" Vash asked.

"You're certainly a character, you know that?" Wolfwood said, calming down. When he received no reply, he continued. "You risk your life for people who you will know for only a fleeting moment, and it's all in the hopes that their lives will be a little easier. You don't even care about yourself!"

"Is that bad?"

"Not really, I guess. You just never see people like that anymore."

Both men were silent for the remainder of the time. The bus came within the hour, and the two boarded and sat in the same seat. Wolfwood fell asleep against the window, while Vash stared out past him, at the sandy world that seemed like a fantasy in the comfort of the bus. Ironically, the scene brought a smile to his face, as he recalled Wolfwood's words.

"But knowing their life is just a little easier is all the reward I need," he said quietly.


End file.
